


Satellite Navigation

by Persiflager



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 17:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16223465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflager/pseuds/Persiflager
Summary: Robert helps Aaron out.





	Satellite Navigation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toxica939](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxica939/gifts).



_Emmerdale to Bucharest, round trip. 700 miles, 60 hours driving, should take 6 days. Remind Rodney of expenses policy - no receipt, no reimbursement, and strippers do not count as a business expense._

Robert, it turns out, is very good at logistics. Within a month of buying into Home James he’d overhauled the rota system, won three new contracts and saved 6% on running costs by re-negotiating the utility bills for the portacabin, all of which he can’t help but see as a sad reflection of the fact he has nothing else going on in his life. 

Marriage? Over.  
Career at Home Farm? Over.  
Home? Living in his little sister’s box-room.  
Friends? Didn’t have any to start with.  
Hobbies? Ditto.  
Feuds? Now that he’s got his revenge on Ross, none (although he might start one with Dan if he doesn’t get the Porsche’s suspension fixed soon).

It doesn’t add up to much. Robert’s aware he should be grateful to be alive, given the number of people who wanted or attempted to murder him last year, but the reality is that that feeling doesn’t last long and Robert was never much of a ‘count your blessings’ type to start with. He’s nearly thirty, shivering at his desk because Yorkshire doesn’t know the meaning of spring, and he left the house before breakfast because he was fed up of his moron of a brother-in-law going on about when Robert’s going to find a place of his own. There’s no reason for him to still be in Emmerdale, except-

“Alright?”

-there’s Aaron.

A gust of freezing, blustery wind comes in before Aaron can shut the door and Robert takes the excuse to look up. Aaron’s red-cheeked from the cold, layered up in hoodie, coat, gloves and his ridiculous bobble hat, and he nods in Robert’s direction before stomping over to his desk. 

This is progress. It had taken a month of working in the same tiny space for Aaron to stop scowling at him, two for Aaron to acknowledge Robert’s ‘good morning’ with anything other than ‘still here, then?’, three for him to unbend sufficiently to accept an offered cup of tea. Robert’s no expert on the matter, but he thinks they might almost qualify as mates.

“Early for you,” says Robert, and he forces himself not to stare. Aaron’s been growing his hair out lately, and it goes all fluffy when it’s been under a hat. He looks good. 

“Got that Halifax run,” says Aaron, rooting around in a pile of papers.

“Ah, the treasure trove of air-conditioning units.” Adam’s been banging on about this deal for days. Last night Robert actually started an argument on who would win in a fight, Jeremy Clarkson or a bear with a peg leg, just to get him to shut up.

“Mm.” Aaron’s phone beeps with a text. “Shit.”

“Problem?”

“It’s Ad. Says he’s got a stomach bug, so I’ll have to go on my own. That’s going to take fucking ages.”

A gong sounds in Robert’s head - hello, here’s your opportunity, take it, take it now. He composes his face and waits - three, four, five seconds - before saying casually, “I could come with you if you like. Lend a hand.”

Aaron narrows his eyes at Robert. He’s not an idiot, never was.

“No, I didn’t poison Adam, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t fancy you that much.”

Aaron nods slowly, as if he’s willing to take this particular non-poisoning on trust but still considers it to have been a reasonable point of consideration. (It was. Robert’s contemplated murdering Adam three times in the last month alone, and that’s just for being a tit.) “Sure you’re up for getting your hands dirty?”

Robert shrugs. “We’ve not got a lot on today. And I do still have a stake in the business.”

Aaron gives him a long, considering look that makes Robert’s skin prickle under the attention before eventually nodding. “Cheers.”

“No problem,” says Robert, and he types some random nonsense into a blank email so as to hide the smug look he can feel on his face.

…

_Emmerdale to Dumfries. 140 miles, just under three hours going via M6 and A65._

Aaron insists on driving, which is fine by Robert; Aaron’s a decent enough driver when he’s not pissed off, and he’s got more experience with the truck. Robert settles himself down in the passenger seat with his take-away coffee and gets on with answering emails, and he doesn’t even realise he’s humming along to the radio until Aaron snorts and says, “Seriously? Little Mix?”

“What?” says Robert, his cheeks warm.

“You’re an embarrassment.”

“Right, because you’re so cool,” says Robert. “You and your dad music. Anyway, isn’t that one of the bonuses of being out and proud, that I can listen to girly pop and not get shit for it?”

“Should have checked the small print,” says Aaron, but he leaves the radio on, and for the rest of the journey Robert can’t shake the feeling that Aaron’s watching him. 

..

Shifting scrap isn’t Robert’s idea of fun. He gets filthy, and knackered, and any vague sense of masculine pride he might have derived from doing so much manual labour is extinguished by the fact he’s got a stitch before Aaron’s even broken a sweat.

Still, it’s worth it to spend time alone with Aaron, away from other people watching, whether they’re approving (Vic), disapproving (Andy, Adam, Paddy, all the Dingles), or just plain nosy (the rest of the villagers, who apparently don’t have anything better to do with their lives than gossip).

Aaron will spend time with him these days, albeit always with other people there as well. They’ll have a pint after work, debate the merits of the Audi G4 over the Quattro while Chas glares at them from behind the bar, but it never goes any further than that. There are no lingering looks, casual touches, bumping into each other in the gents; Robert knows all of Aaron’s tells, and either Aaron’s got more self-control than Robert gave him credit for or they really are over for good. 

Except … Aaron hasn’t met anyone else. Robert would know if he had (Chas would be sure to mention it if nothing else), and as far as he can tell Aaron’s not even looking. It’s like he’s waiting for something, but Robert can’t figure out what (it certainly can’t be for Robert to make a move - Robert hits on Aaron fairly often, the degree of subtlety depending on his mood and how drunk he is, and Aaron shuts him down every time). It feels like he’s in orbit - he can’t move away, and Aaron won’t let him get any closer.

Robert hopes Aaron knows what he’s doing. One of them has to.

“What is this?” says Aaron, peering suspiciously at his sandwich. They’re sheltering inside the cab to eat their lunch and it’s just started pissing it down, drowning out the sights and sounds of the outside until it feels like they’re the only two people left in the world.

“Cheese and pickle from the cafe,” says Robert. “You like cheese and pickle.” His own is ham and mustard. He tries to focus on the tang of the mustard and not the smell of Aaron beside him, all warmth and fresh sweat that makes his mouth water.

“This pickle’s weird.”

“Bob did say something about Doug’s chutney. I wasn’t really paying attention.” Robert looks at Aaron’s frowning face and sighs. “Do you want to swap?”

Aaron looks like he’s going to say no at first, but then- “Would you mind?” He holds out his sandwich with one bite taken out of it and looks faintly embarrassed.

Robert shrugs, takes it, hands his over. Tries not to think about the fact that this bread has just touched Aaron’s lips, and that the sandwich Aaron’s now eating has just touched his. Fails.

..

_Dumfries to Kendal. 90 miles, 1 hour 28 minutes._

They get back on the road just after three. Aaron lets Robert drive this time and he settles down quietly in the passenger seat without giving Robert too much gyp about his choice of radio station. The motorway’s clear. Robert concentrates on driving and does his best to ignore Aaron, but it’s not easy when Aaron’s presence blooms in the small space, expanding to take up every inch of his awareness. Even when Robert’s not looking directly at him, Aaron’s constantly in the edge of his vision. His knuckles brush against the rough material of Aaron’s work trousers when he changes gear. He can smell Aaron - a heady, musky aroma of hormones and exertion that seems to get thicker by the moment - and he can hear the faint whistling sound of Aaron’s breathing as he dozes off. 

On principle, Robert tries not to think about sex too much when Aaron’s around. It’s not easy - they’ve shagged pretty much everywhere in the village, and Robert has an excellent memory - but in the interests of not having to work with a semi he tries.

He’s not trying now. He’s remembering that week when Aaron stayed up at Home Farm. Aaron had smelled of sex from the moment he walked in the door, and Robert had spent the first twenty-four hours fucking him and feeding him and sleeping curled round him like the possessive twat he was.

There was something about going at it in that house that had really done it for him. The decor was so uptight and old-fashioned and posh, it made Robert want to behave like an animal. They’d eaten take-away chinese off the expensive plates, lounged naked on the sofa, and then Robert had gotten on his knees and eaten Aaron’s arse out.

Aaron has a fantastic arse and he loves being rimmed, but he never asked for it. Robert liked that, giving Aaron what he wanted but couldn’t ask for. He liked hearing Aaron swear and fall apart, he liked feeling Aaron push back against his lips, he liked knowing that Aaron was desperate for him. It was like a game, which one of them would be the first to crack. That time it had been him, and he’d had Aaron right there on the living room floor.

(The carpet had been a state. Robert had spent the next morning scrubbing come out of it while Aaron was at work.)

Robert hears Aaron stirring. “Alright?” He turns his attention back to the road ahead. Five miles to Kendal, another couple of hours back to Emmerdale, probably two and a half hours until he can sneak off and have a wank.

“I wasn’t asleep,” says Aaron, his voice thick and heavy.

“Yeah right.”

“I mean it,” says Aaron, and he puts his hand on Robert’s leg.

Robert, to his credit, keeps driving in a straight line. “Aaron?”

“Shit,” says Aaron, and he pulls his hand away.

“You alright?”

Aaron’s leaning away from Robert now, pressed up against the door on his side, and he’s got his phone out. “No. You need to drop me at a hotel.”

“Ah. You’re-”

“Yep.”

Robert puts his foot down.

…

Aaron finds a Travelodge at the next services and Robert drives there as fast as he can, keeping his eyes on the road ahead and doing his best to ignore the quiet sounds of Aaron shifting in his seat. 

They’ve done this before but things are different now. Robert’s on uncertain ground. He probably shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

They pull up in the car park at last and Aaron scrambles out. “Oh, thank fuck.”

Robert climbs out, locks the door and walks round the front of the truck. “Look-”

‘Do you-” says Aaron before stopping. “Um.”

Robert feels dizzy, and drunk, and like he wants to shag Aaron right there in the car park, but he retains just enough semblance of sanity to recognise that that might not be the best idea. “Do you want me to come in with you?” he asks, as casually as he can manage with an erection you could use to hammer nails in.

“You don’t have to,” says Aaron, also visibly hard. Robert doesn’t even pretend not to look.

“No, it’s ok. I mean, I didn’t have plans or anything.”

“Oh, good,” says Aaron. “Then yes. Please.”

Between them they manage to check in. Robert’s sure it’s blatantly obvious what they’re there for, given the lack of luggage and mid-afternoon check-in, but the bored-looking receptionist clearly doesn’t give a toss. They have to go two floors up in the escalator to get to their room. Robert digs his nails into his palms and stares at the carpet the whole way up.

When they finally manage to get inside the room and shut the door beside them it’s like time pauses for a moment. It feels like molten glass - slow, liquid, elastic, burning hot. Robert breathes through his nose for the first time in half an hour and he’s got his hands on Aaron’s waist before he can think.

“Yeah,” says Aaron, wriggling against him. “Fuck.”

Robert’s entranced by Aaron’s jaw, his neck, the skin just behind his ear. It smells like apricots - no, ripe peaches? He presses his nose close and inhales, barely aware of Aaron undoing his jeans. Then somehow Aaron’s trousers are off as well, and one of his legs is round Robert’s waist, and his arse is in Robert’s hands and Robert’s pushing inside with a sweet, slow inevitability, fucking Aaron up against the wall for what seems like hours as Aaron swears in his ear and Robert breathes incoherent promises into his skin.

..

_You have reached your destination._

Robert wakes. His level of consciousness is barely above that of the pillow his face is pressed into, and he aches all over.

Memories flow hazily through his brain like syrup. It’s mostly a montage of fucking Aaron over and over again - up against the wall, on the floor, in the bed, on the floor again after they fell out of bed - but there are a few exceptions. He remembers spooning Aaron for what felt like hours, detailing his plans for them to have twenty children and live in a big, beautiful house and explaining how he was going to take care of Aaron forever. He thinks he might have said a lot of things he’ll regret.

Cracking one eyelid open, Robert sees Aaron coming out of the bathroom, fully dressed apart from his bare feet and smelling of cheap minty shower gel. Sunlight is flooding the room, and the brightness makes Robert’s head hurt.

“Bathroom’s free,” says Aaron, not looking at him. He finds his socks strewn about the floor and puts them on before shoving his feet into his boots. “See you down at breakfast, yeah?”

“OK,” croaks Robert. Even his lips are sore. “You alright?”

“Fine.” Aaron makes his way across to the door and pauses. “I’ve made you a brew,” he says, nodding at the bedside table, and then he leaves.

Moving seems beyond Robert’s current capabilities but he eventually manages to drag himself upright and drink the tea. It’s black with about six sugars in it, which either means that Aaron thinks he’s fragile right now or that Aaron couldn’t find the milk. Robert tries to work out what this means but his head hurts too much and he’s awash with hormones and memories. He wants to cuddle Aaron and buy him pretty things and feed him buttered toast, and he also wants to cry because Aaron is clearly fine and doesn’t need Robert to take care of him and isn’t going to have Robert’s beautiful, terrible children.

After he gets the tannic, lukewarm, sugar-laden monstrosity of a drink down him, Robert feels human enough to drag himself out of bed and into the shower, where he leans against the wall and lets the hot water sluice Aaron’s scent off his skin. Beard burn stings on his face, neck, chest and bum. He does get to use the same shower gel as Aaron, which is some comfort. It tingles.

Aaron doesn’t re-appear so Robert heads down to the dining room, where he spots Aaron deep in thought. The plate in front of him is empty.

“Alright?”

Aaron looks up and nods.

“Can I get you anything?” says Robert, nodding at Aaron’s plate. His hands feel itchy and he shoves them into his pockets in an attempt at restraint.

Aaron shakes his head.

“Right, well, I’ll just,” says Robert, gesturing at the buffet, and he piles assorted cooked breakfast items onto a plate before thunking down into the chair opposite Aaron, who hasn’t moved.

“Sorry, I just needed to think,” says Aaron. “So, about last night-”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” says Robert in a rush.

“What,” says Aaron, frowning at him.

“We can just forget about it. Write it off.”

“Right, because that’s worked so well before.” Aaron grabs Robert’s wrist. “Listen, I-”

“Do you want any tea or coffee?” says a bored-sounding voice from Robert’s left. Robert doesn’t look up. All of his attention is focussed on where Aaron’s fingers are touching his skin with a heat that takes his breath away, like a fiery bracelet.

“Go away,” says Aaron somewhere in the distance. “Robert, I - Robert, are you listening to me?”

“Yes,” says Robert, and with some difficulty he looks up.

“I’m tired of pretending I don’t still have feelings for you.”

“I love you,” says Robert in a rush. It feels like a dam breaking, as if the words have been pressing up against his teeth for hours.

“Yeah, you mentioned,” says Aaron, his eyes crinkling. “And you want, what? Twenty kids?”

“Shut up.”

Aaron laughs, but his eyes are kind. “Do you want to give it a go then?” he says, as if they’re talking about trying a new bar in town or going to see the latest Fast & Furious.

“Yes, obviously,” says Robert, and he leans across the table to kiss Aaron’s laughing mouth. Aaron kisses him back, and when Robert sits back down he spears a sausage from Robert’s plate and starts eating it. It makes Robert feel all warm inside, his hindbrain glowing with satisfaction, like he’s finally done something right.

“Do you want some toast with that?”

“Yeah, ta,” says Aaron, and it must be love because Robert’s not even put off by the sight of him talking with his mouth full.

Robert toasts several slices of bread and slathers them with butter before returning to the table.

“Cheers,” says Aaron, and he grabs one and takes a big bite out of it.

“No problem,” says Robert. “You need to keep your strength up for all those kids we’ll be having.”

Aaron chokes on his toast, and Robert beams.


End file.
